


Never Change A Running System

by CharlyLee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aobajousai, Canon Compliant, Crack, Gen, Humor, KinKuni - Freeform, Kunimi keeps hogging it and he sure as shit doesn't intend to share it any time soon, KyouHaba - Freeform, Mild Swearing, Minor Original Character(s), Next Generation Captains (Haikyuu!!), POV Alternating, POV Kyoutani, POV Watari, POV Yahaba, Seijoh - Freeform, Seijoh shares a single brain cell, feel free to imagine them though, iwaoi - Freeform, matsuhana - Freeform, no explicit ships, pov kunimi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29841075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlyLee/pseuds/CharlyLee
Summary: Watari is starting to think something went wrong when all the new first years are coming to him instead of Yahaba - but maybe, considering that his best friend is busy taming a certain Mad Dog, the underclassmen's fear is justified.Or: A story about how Yahaba, and with him all of Seijoh, struggles to fill out some big footprints.
Relationships: Kindaichi Yuutarou/Kunimi Akira, Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru, Watari Shinji & Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. The dilemmas of Watari Shinji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my contribution to the 'Devoted' Zine, a free to download PDF zine focusing on next-gen captains.  
> I hope you'll enjoy it ^-^

“Watari-Senpai!?”

He looks up at the five first-years, presenting him with an assortment of items. The suction cup for uncovering the holes in the gym floor that harbour the net poles. The hand-full of pins used to secure the net. A whistle. An empty drink caddy. And a clipboard with nothing clipped to it.

_ “Yeah?” _

“Where should we put this?”

Watari opens his mouth, then he stops, furrowing his brows, and looks around the gym.

Sure, he is a third-year now and  _ technically _ a senpai, but still—there are other people better suited to ask such things. The captain for example. Or the vice-captain.

In retrospect, Watari should have been able to deduce the cause of their absence by simply listening.

After all, Yahaba is yelling at near peak volume,  _ which is not nothing, _ but to Watari, yelling in the Aoba Johsai volleyball gym has become just another form of white noise after spending two years under the care of Iwaizumi Hajime.

Yahaba has Kyotani in a headlock, shaking him viciously. The Mad Dog looks relatively unimpressed, face turned away, arms crossed over his chest, lips pursed in a silent  _ ‘tsk’, _ giving short, snappy comments in response to the dressing down, which do nothing other than sprinkle oil into the fire.

Watari sighs— _ oh not again! _

If he were a first-year, he’d not go anywhere near that either.

“I’ll show you,” he stands up, gesturing them to follow and they trail behind him like a flock of ducklings, rounding the epicentre of swearing and insults spaciously.

In the background, his best friend has started to hurl stray volleyballs at Kyotani, who swats them out of the air like annoying flies, causing them to bounce and spring across the gym. Context and coherency have long reached a point far beyond the comprehensible and Watari rolls his eyes, avoiding the ricochets like it’s second nature. Just as with the yelling, he’s gotten used to them.

_ “Alright,” _ he starts as they reach the tool shed furthest along the wall, “most of the hotchpotch goes in this one.”

The first-years all nod solemnly as if he was elaborating the amenity of an early Shakespeare over a Basho. Watari is rather certain that  _ he _ wasn’t this starry-eyed when he was a newbie. Then again,  _ his _ tour of the gym was lead by Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who were hard to respect for anything, even as an easy to impress first-year, other than perhaps the insane amount of cheese puffs the former could fit in his mouth and the latter’s undeniable talent to hit his head on the lintel of the club room.  _ Every. Single. Day. _

Watari opens a metal closet, points out an old shoebox, commenting: “Bits and pieces,” and signals a lanky, snub-nosed boy with flat, platinum-blond hair to drop the whistle in it.

Then he gestures at the case board below, offering more space, and declares: “And here you can store the rest of the off-court things.”

The first-year libero with an unruly, chestnut conglomeration of hair atop his head, clutching the clipboard in his freckled hands as if his life depends on it and he will simply float away into the vastness of the cosmos if he lets go, decides to take a leap of faith and places the item inside the closet with a truly exceptional precision that should automatically entitle him to an A+ in every single geometry test from now until the end of time.

His classmate, a dark-skinned, short and sturdy boy dumps the drink caddy on top of it with gusto and the expression of someone who is extremely pleased with themself.

Watari smiles at both of them as naturally as he can muster. 

_ Would a thumbs-up be too much?—Probably. _

So he just takes a couple of steps to the left and opens the next closet.

“And this is where all the volleyball stuff goes.” He points his thumb inside.

Someone has already rolled one net up on its stirrup and hung it inside.  _ Someone… _ he takes a look around.

“Are they done yet?” Kunimi’s head appears from behind a vaulting box, shortly followed by the spiky peaks of Kindaichi’s hairdo.

Several of the first-years flinch.

Watari takes a moment to prick his ears.

Inside the enclave of the tool shed, the yelling has almost disappeared. And then he notices it has not just  _ ‘almost disappeared’ _ —it disappeared  _ completely! _

“Is the mouse back?” Yahaba asks right behind him, “Or why are you all huddling in the tool shed?”

_ “No reason!” _ Kindaichi quickly jumps to his feet, nearly knocking his hand into Kunimi’s face, who graces him with an  _ Exasperated Look™. _

_ “Mouse?” _ Freckle-Hands whispers to Wannabe-Malfoy, who wrinkles his nose, casting a glance around which is not quite as subtle as he thinks it is.

“Where is Kyotani?” Watari asks.

Yahaba’s expression derails and he purses his lips in a displeased snarl.

If the answer turns out to be  _ ‘dead’, _ Watari wouldn’t be surprised in the least!

“Being an ass.”

And the dull  _ ‘thud’ _ of a volleyball hitting the floor underlines the fact that their Mad Dog is very much still breathing and barking.

_ “Umn… _ Captain Yahaba-Senpai?” A jug-eared first-year with windswept black hair and upturned, slate-grey eyes lifts his hand. Entirely unnecessarily, since he is by far the tallest out of the bunch and hard to overlook in  _ any _ environment, especially not in an enclosed space like the tool shed.

_ “Hm?” _ Yahaba looks up at him with a jovial nod, bestowing the boy with the privilege to be received in an audience, that would have made Oikawa very proud and on top of that  _ very jealous. _

“Did you say something about a mouse?”

“Oh,  _ yeah. _ The mouse story is one of the good ones, so you’ll have to earn it and then we might tell it at training camp sometime.” Yahaba puts his hands on his hips with a smirk, that is probably meant to be hortatory, but only increases the first-years’ confusion.

Wannabe-Malfoy inches back a little further towards the exit.

“They don’t know Iwaizumi, though—that takes most of the fun out of it,” Kunimi objects.

Watari crooks his head in contemplation. The sleepy-eyed isn’t  _ that _ wrong—hearing Iwaizumi Hajime scream like a little girl first and then swear like a two-hundred-pound British sailor was really much funnier when you knew him in person. Everyone had thought it was Oikawa at first and if Watari hadn’t been standing right next to his former captain, who was just as confused as himself when the incident occurred, he would  _ never _ have been able to believe Hanamaki’s laughter-shaken retelling of the ace being jumped by a mouse hiding in their odds and ends closet and produce a noise none of them had ever believed possible for a man of his stature!

All four of the upperclassmen chuckle lowly as they simultaneously revisit that fateful day in their heads.

The first-years share a collective, slightly worried glance. The epic of the recently graduated club-members must be strongly anchored in them though, because mixed into the concern their senpais might not be entirely sane—which, _ to be fair, _ they probably aren’t—is some eager curiosity to find out more about the legends of those ancient heroes.

“Well,” after granting himself a smile, Yahaba claps his hands and starts shushing them out, “as I said:  _ That one you will have to earn! _ But for today, you should go home—it’s gotten pretty dark outside already!”

And in various stages of relief at finally being dismissed, the quintet shuffles out of the tool shed, picks up their bottles and flutters through the gym door into temporary freedom, the topic of conversation already changed to some manga Watari doesn’t know.

Only now does Kunimi decide to leave the shelter of the vaulting box Kindaichi and he were hiding behind and yawns into the crook of his elbow.

Watari weighs the suction cup in his hand—the only item that hasn’t been placed in its proper spot yet. Then he follows his best friend back into the gym, still holding on to it.

Yahaba has crossed his arms over his chest and his eyebrow is starting to twitch again as they watch Kyotani shatter another ball over the second net, which is still up.

Theoretically, they need to take it down, but  _ practically, _ nobody will be in this gym between now and tomorrow’s morning training who could be bothered by it.

_ “Captain’s orders?” _ he asks jokingly.

“How did Oikawa manage this? It’s like I am dealing with an uncooperative toddler.” Yahaba sighs instead of answering him, as he watches Kyotani pick up another ball and prepare to serve it.

_ “He didn’t!” _ Kunimi mumbles. “He was the one who got managed.”

Three additional sets of eyes come to rest on the Mad Dog and realization dawns on Yahaba’s face. 

_ “Oh no _ —that makes me Iwaizumi,  _ doesn’t it?” _

Kunimi snickers into his hand. 

_ “So… _ am I Hanamaki or Matsukawa?” Watari pinches his chin in thought, only half-serious. He doesn’t know which would be worse. Or if he even  _ wants _ to know the answer.

“Depends on whether or not you can set the kitchen on fire next training-camp,” Kindaichi suggests.

“Would be worth a try,  _ wouldn’t it!?” _

_ “Noone _ is setting  _ anything _ on fire!” Yahaba snaps.

Kindaichi and Watari exchange a glance and a smirk.

_ “Classic Iwaizumi,” _ Kunimi murmurs and with an unnerved scream their captain ruffles his hair and stomps off.

_ “Hey!” _ he barks at Kyotani, the next best victim for his frustration over failing to follow in Oikawa’s footsteps at the most basic level. “Time to stop, we want to go home!”

_ “Piss off then!” _ the other snaps back, “Like I need your spaghetti arms to help me take down a dumb net.”

“That was his funeral!” Kunimi murmurs and Kindaichi cringes visibly at the words.

“Guys,” Watari calls out to separate the two wranglers.  _ “Come on!” _

“We could stay,” Kindaichi offers eagerly, “and practice some more too.”

Kunimi shoots him a glance. “Did you do your English essay?”

_ “Which essay?” _

“The one you’ve been pushing since last week because you are the only person  _ on earth _ who manages to  _ underbid Kageyama _ in English!?”

And with from despair incoherent cursing and plenty of hair-tearing Kindaichi storms out of the gym, obviously having repressed and successfully forgotten this particular assignment, which,  _ if Watari’s hunch is right, _ would be due tomorrow.

Kunimi follows with a sloppy goodbye-wave, which leaves only the third-years left.

“Like old times, isn’t it— _ just the three of us, _ so what do you say?” he laughs and opens his arms for a group hug.

Kyotani is out of the gym behind their underclassmen faster than anyone can blink and not even Yahaba’s threat, to have him expelled from the club if he doesn’t come back to help them take down the net, can make him return. Apparently sacrificing volleyball is better than being hugged.

“His loss.” Watari shrugs and elbows his best friend playfully.

It takes a few more moments for Yahaba to buckle and wrap his arms around Watari, who slaps the stiffness out of his back with a mocking grin and cashes in a huff and a gentle fist to the shoulder in response.

“Captain,” he snickers.

_ “Oh shut up!” _ Yahaba muffles.

But at least the light-haired is genuinely smiling again—maybe for the first time today.


	2. The conflicts of Kyoutani Kentaro

The bus rushes past him, blasting a gust of chilly evening air into Kentaro’s face, causing him to shudder and bury his nose deeper in the collar of his jacket.

It’s the third one he watches run by. Every time he intends to signal the driver that he wants to get on and yet every time he stays seated, motionless, frozen,  _ undecided. _

Kentaro stuffs his hands far down his pockets, feet kicking in aimless frustration.

Yesterday was the final drop in the barrel.

He hasn’t skipped training once since last year, but today he just couldn’t take it anymore.

_ How they look at him... _

His foot finds a pebble and sends it flying out onto the street where it’s run over by a cherry-red pick-up truck.

He grabbed his stuff and he got on the first bus to the public gym. But ever since he sat down at the interchange station he has been incapable of getting his stupid excuse for an ass off this bloody, freezing cold, metal, mesh bench.

This is not like him. _ At all! _

He didn’t ask to become vice-captain! He doesn’t  _ want _ to be vice-captain!

He just wants to play volleyball.

_ That’s everything! _

Yahaba was made to be captain—it had been clear from the day they met at the very first audition for the club. He simply has that aura that demands discipline.

_ And Kentaro doesn’t. _

He is just the next best person available—vice-captain by default…  _ fucking pathetic!  _

He’s well aware that everyone would prefer Watari in his stead—and he deserves it a lot more than Kentaro does, too! At least he can talk to the first-years—at least he  _ wants _ to talk to the first-years!

Kentaro never knows what to say and by the time he’s decided on a comment, he’s either scared everyone off with his scowl— _ which is really just his normal thinking face _ —or they left because they assume he doesn’t have anything to say.

It’s frustrating him.  _ Supremely! _

And Kentaro,  _ quite famously, _ does not handle frustration well.

He finds an old crown cap and starts pushing it around in circles under his foot, listening to the scratching of metal on asphalt mix into the roaring of the cars that pass by in front of him, one chasing the other in an endless, restless river of flashing LED headlights.

_ “Hah!” _

He flinches so hard, he almost falls off the bench.  _ “Shit!” _

“Knew this is where you’d be hiding!” Yahaba looks prouder of himself than the situation should warrant.

“The  _ fuck _ are you doing here? And how the hell did you  _ find _ me?” Kentaro snaps, but it is more of a breathless wheeze than his usual bark. His heart is skipping beats.

The fluffy-haired scowls at him condescendingly, then his shoulders slack and he shrugs. 

“Jumbo-Shrimp saw you boarding the bus and from there it didn’t take long to get a public transportation app, google maps and count two and two together,” he explains.

Kentaro presses his lips into a thin line. He always forgets the last of their five first-years, who Kindaichi has named after Karasuno’s freaky No10, despite the only thing they have in common being the colour of their hair. Their new setter is quiet, clueless and has absolutely no personality—he’s practically invisible, which must be why Kentaro didn’t notice him close by.

“I’m just surprised I found you so quickly—I thought I would have to drag you out of the public gym by your collar!”

Kentaro answers with an incomprehensible grunt— _ so would he, but there they are. _

He kicks the crown cap from one foot to the other, slouching back on the bench.

Yahaba’s patience lasts a total of five and a half seconds, then he bends down, snatches it from the floor and dunks it skillfully in a bin several metres away.

_ “Sit straight! _ You are going to get a bad back like this!”

Kentaro shuffles into an even more crooked position, glaring straight ahead in defiance.

The other purses his lips for a moment, then he sighs and slumps down in the space next to him, his elbow purposefully knocking into Kentaro’s ribs.

This time the silence lasts longer.

“Don’t you have stuff to do?” Kentaro asks eventually.

_ “You _ don’t get to talk!” Yahaba snaps back, a guilty shade of red rising on his cheeks.

Kentaro’s chin drops as realization hits him entirely unprompted: “Someone punch me— _ you are bailing!” _

Yahaba steps down on his foot hard and he cringes forward with an agonized groan.

“Am  _ not!” _

_ “Are!” _

_ “Shut up!”  _ And the fuffy-haired crosses his arms over his chest, letting himself fall back against the plexiglass walls of the bus stop with considerably more oomph than necessary, thoroughly shaking the entire structure.

Kentaro keeps gaping at him. The honour-student is deliberately missing a training session of the very sports team he is the captain of!  _ And tomorrow the sky will split in two and wine will rain down on the land. _

“I am fulfilling my duties as captain by persecuting a defector,” Yahaba declares with a deep breath and a stern face as if he’d read Kentaro’s thoughts. 

_ “You’re bailing,” _ he deadpans.

“And what if I am,  _ huh?”  _ Yahaba finally snaps, “I’m proud to be the captain, but I’m only human,  _ so give me a break, _ especially since  _ you _ are the main reason why I need one!”

“Well,  _ get lost _ then,” Kentro suggests with a shushing motion and more bite in his voice than he intended. “I didn’t ask you to follow me! I didn’t ask for  _ any _ of this!”

“Do you think  _ I _ did?”

_ “Kinda, _ yeah.”

“Okay… I  _ did _ but…” and Yahaba ruffles his hair with an unnerved sound,  _ “arghhhh _ —Oikawa made it all look so easy and now I’m failing him!  _ For fuck’s sake, _ I can’t even remember the new members’ names!”

“Oikawa called me by my full name a total of two and a half times.”

_ “A half?”  _ Yahaba raises a questioning eyebrow.

“He was almost there but then Hanamaki smacked a volleyball in his face,” Kentaro shrugs.

The other makes a vague noise of acknowledgement then he turns his head down and mutters:  _ “At least he tried _ —I don’t even have the guts to ask so I just call them stupid nicknames. I don’t deserve to be his predecessor.“

“No,  _ you really don’t! _ If you want to be more like Oikawa then you need sunglasses, a folding chair and a Piña Colada.”

“You’re describing Matsukawa.” Yahaba makes a dismissive gesture.

“If you want to be more like Oikawa, you need a squad of annoying fangirls and to lose all the respect I have for you,” Kentaro corrects himself.

Yahaba doesn’t retort and that is making him nervous. He was expecting a very long, very dull lecture about  _ appreciation and whatnot, _ but the fluffy-haired just looks at him bewildered.

“You  _ respect _ me?” he finally whispers.

_ Shit!—“No.” _

“You said it!  _ That was a compliment, _ no take-backs!” Yahaba jumps back up to his feet, a wide, oddly relieved grin forming on his face like he just won the battle of Sekigahara all over again.

“No witnesses— _ never happened,” _ Kentaro objects, turning his face away.

“Get your sorry ass off that bench before I whoop it,  _ with or without _ witnesses!” And there he is—the usual, uncompromising Yahaba Shigeru.

Kentaro blinks up at his captain, classmate, yeah… possibly the only person his age who comes anywhere close to the term  _ ‘friend’ _ and even if they are not quite there yet,  _ ‘fellow victim of expectations’ _ will do the job nicely for now.

_ “‘kay,” _ he mumbles. Suddenly, the heaviness has left his legs and he dusts off his thighs as he rises from the bench.

Yahaba stares back at him with radiant disbelief that changes into satisfaction and then, _ for some reason, _ into utter horror.

_ “Oh no, _ Watari was right—I’m  _ really _ turning into Iwaizumi,” he gasps, looking as ambivalent as Kentaro has ever seen a human being.

“And?  _ He’s cool, _ so what’s the fucking problem?”

Yahaba gives him that kind of  _ Look™ _ that suggests he knows something Kentaro doesn’t, and it’s pissing him off like you would not believe.

_ “Well,” _ the other starts slowly, straightening the jacket which he’s wearing over his club shirt, “if  _ I’m _ Iwaizumi then that would make you -”

_ “No!” _ Kentaro snaps, and his head explodes bright red. “Under no.  _ Fucking. _ Circumstances! That’s premium bullshit right there—we don’t need to follow in anyone’s footsteps, we’re making our own path.  _ Period!” _

And with those words, he turns on his heels and stomps off, back towards the school. 

A bus passes him. It would have been the fourth. 

For a very short moment, he contemplates getting on it after all, just so he doesn’t have to listen to any more of this nonsense, but Yahaba has caught up to him, already back to bickering. 

_ “Hey, _ our senpais worked very hard to build this team, so don’t dismiss that!”

“You’ve got it easy!  _ You’re hitting after the cool one!”  _ Kentaro snaps back.

“Oikawa is a great leader, you should be thankful he rubbed off on you!”

“Let’s trade then!” he demands only half-seriously. 

Yahaba gives him a glance from the side, then he looks ahead and lifts his chin a bit higher, nightly lights reflecting in his hair like the gleaming, hellish halo he deserves.

“If you stop being difficult and start taking your duties as vice-captain seriously, I  _ might _ consider it.”

“That is the shittiest deal anyone has ever proposed,” Kentaro grunts, his foot finding another pebble, kicking it over the edge of the walkway.  _ “I’ll take it!” _


	3. The struggles of Kunimi Akira

“Okay,  _ hear me out!” _ Kindaichi drops in the chair opposite to his.

“No.” Kunimi doesn’t bother looking up from his Japanese homework, checking off another box on the worksheet.

_ “Come on, _ I need your opinion!”

“Fine,” he sighs, already exasperated, “but I’m not promising anything!”

Kindaichi grants him a vague look, but whatever it is he’s thinking, he keeps it to himself and instead clears his throat to proceed with his initial dilemma: “Just out of curiosity,  _ what… _ what do you think it means if I,  _ hypothetically, _ might have had a dream about Hanamaki sitting on my desk, playing the ukulele and singing  _ ‘Mmmm whatcha’ say’ _ while I fail my English test!?”

He pulls at his knuckles, eyes on the table between them, nervous sweat appearing on his forehead as he shrinks in his chair under the pressure of Kunimi’s increasingly deadpan stare.

“That constantly chewing on your pencils seems to have caused acute lead poisoning!” he answers dryly and turns back to his homework. It’s way too early to deal with his best friend’s fever dreams. “Also, I’m fairly certain that Hanamaki doesn’t know how to play the ukulele and that that song is  _ un-ukulele-able _ anyway.”

Kindaichi very obviously expected some kind of constructive help, but after all the years they’ve known each other it is really on him for still assuming  _ that _ would be what he’d get. Hence, Kunimi has absolutely no problem ignoring the furrowed brows and agape mouth of the other’s mildly scandalized expression. 

An expression that turns into a petty, bolshie grimace  _ way _ too quickly.

Kindaichi is plotting something and Kunimi doesn’t need to wait long to find out what it is. Only two questions down the worksheet, a phone is pushed under his nose, prominently featuring the numerous YouTube search results for  _ ‘watcha say ukulele cover’. _

“Just...  _ do your homework, _ Yutaro!” Kunimi grunts out, shoving it back over to its owner with a huff. The use of his given name has the hoped-for effect and Kindaichi smugly slams a notepad and his math book onto the table.

“I thought you were sad that the four all graduated, so shouldn’t you be glad they are technically still around!?” Kunimi teases while he erases his last answer and scribbles down a different kanji, not willing to let his friend take victory so easily. “In your, certainly  _ nothing but hypothetic, _ dreams and five tables over!?”

Kindaichi looks up and glances at the new third-years. The cafeteria is full of people studying in pairs or groups, whereas the classrooms are usually occupied by the lone wolves. Their senpais have chosen a spot in the corner, sheltered by a couple of pot plants. 

Kyotani is reading in his English coursebook, but propped up inside it is some kind of graphic novel or full-colour manga.

Yahaba, who has yet to notice that the Mad Dog’s occasionally quirking lips are not caused by immense joy over the latest grammar, is letting his frustration about a particularly tricky geometry exercise out by pressing his compasses into his notepad so firmly, he’s probably already drilled a hole all the way through.

And Watari is studying a different geometry visual with tremendous concentration as if the lines might come to life and tell him what to do with all those numbers and angles if he just stares at them hard enough, only to be hit by a sudden realization and he turns the worksheet around, mouthing  _ ‘oooooh’, _ apparently having tried to solve the problem upside down. He casts a quick glance around to check if anyone has witnessed his little faux pas and Kunimi and Kindaichi hastily turn their heads down to their own exercises.

“I always thought  _ Kageyama _ was turning out like Iwaizumi but Yahaba outdid him by a mile,” Kindaichi murmurs.

“All three of them are Oikawa simps, so we should have seen it coming,” Kunimi mumbles in response.

“I’m feeling conflicted about Kyotani though.”

“Why? He’s constantly being yelled at by  _ ‘Iwaizumi’, _ spends too much time on his eyeliner and is essentially useless unless it has to do with volleyball—that is nothing short of full Oikawa-Bingo.” Kunimi checks off another question and starts reading the next.

“Sure but…  _ you know... _ I’ve been thinking...”

And from the way Kindaichi puts extra effort into placing his ballpen exactly parallel to his notepad, Kunimi can deduct that what will follow now is the true reason for his friend’s unrest. “Spit it out!”

“About what Watari said,” the spiky-haired goes on, “if he’s Hanamaki or Matsukawa and I... got a bit conflicted because they’re a package deal and -”

“For the sake of your kneecap, I hope you are not going to say what I  _ think _ you are planning to say!”

“- we’re the only other duo le-  _ ouch!” _ Kunimi kicks him under the table. 

_ “Kindaichi Yutaro!” _ he snaps, “I know you have severe issues with letting go of your grudges and affections! I would have liked to win just as much as you and just as much as Oikawa—but we didn’t, we lost and we lost for a reason!”

The other looks at him with a pained grimace and Kunimi starts gathering up his stuff. “Change is neither a good nor a bad thing—it’s what you make of it!” he declares, “And I for once will not participate in trying to fill any holes, because some things are  _ supposed _ to have holes and that is what makes them good! Cheese for example, or golf courses—whichever one you can associate with better!”

He stuffs his worksheet into his bag, throws it over his shoulder and storms off.

“Yahaba-San!” he calls out, approaching the third-years’ table.

The older looks up, rather confused.

“Thank you for being our captain! And thank you for being your own person! I look forward to your guidance,” Kunimi declares with a short bow before turning on his heels.

“And also:  _ You’re Hanamki!” _ he hisses as he passes Kindaichi once more before sweeping out of the cafeteria to do his homework and think about new strategies in peace.


	4. The challenges of Yahaba Shigeru

Yahaba never had the time to develop an impostor syndrome—from day one these people kept him so busy, he couldn’t find more than two minutes to wallow in self-doubt, and every time he manages to reach a proper level of misery,  _ someone _ does  _ something _ and he has to go mop up another trainwreck.

By now he is starting to understand why Oikawa never bothered to put out fires:  _ It is a Sisyphean task _ —the moment you extinguish one, the next pops right up. And possibly because he himself was responsible for most of the fires in the first place.

In retrospect, it has always been a little foolish of him to believe he could replace the Grand King—after all, who is he,  _ Yahaba Shigeru, _ to know what happens inside the mind of someone like Oikawa Tooru!? To assume he could ever understand the motivations of a man like him, was nothing other than the height of hubris.

Yahaba is not a great man, he is just there,  _ living in the moment, _ unaware of the grand scheme. But that doesn’t change he’s the captain now, so he has to make do with the simple methods of a simple man such as himself, hoping for his team to have his back, striving to give them as much as he can in return for their trust and respect!

His eyes pan across Watari correcting Freckle-Hand’s receiving stance, Kunimi trying to shake a very enthusiastic Jug-Ears following him around with a constant stream of questions bubbling over his lips, Kindaichi explaining block-outs  _ way _ too complicated and entirely oblivious of the many confused looks Jumbo-Shrimp and Wannabe-Malfoy share and lastly Kyotani who is doing his best to ignore Shadow-Boy’s obvious efforts to show off and get the ace’s approval for one of his,  _ admittedly somewhat powerful, _ jump serves.

Yahaba is half-aware that Watari and Kunimi have a bet going on which scenario will occur first: The Mad Dog giving in and complimenting him or the dark-skinned boy, with more confidence than is good for him, giving up and picking someone else to seek validation from.

He can feel the urge to split that mess of inadequate communication in strands like an itch on his back, right where he can’t reach it! He takes a deep breath and reminds himself:  _ One fire at a time. _

For now, he decides to acknowledge and accredit that Kyotani has not yet started to yell at the first-year invading his personal space and rather consider the other’s confusion and surprisingly shy behaviour a form of entertainment.

Yes, one fire at a time—and for starters, they have five promising new candidates for the regular team who need to be whipped into shape.

“Alright, everyone!” Yahaba bangs an empty bottle against the doorframe of the tool shed, catching his teammates’ attention.

He waits until they have formed a loose half-circle around him and something like pride swells in his chest, then he clears his throat and announces as matter-of-factly as he can: “The coach wants us to come up with a new starting line-up, so we’ll focus on chemistry until we have the possible dynamics figured out and can touch up the gaps targeted.”

Nine pairs of eager eyes stare back at him.

Kyotani cracks his knuckles, Watari nods affirmatively, Kindaichi pulls a determined grimace, Kunimi tucks a stray strand of hair back behind his ear and the first-years all shuffle to stand a bit straighter.

He can do this. _ They  _ can do this!

Yahaba takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders and pulls the whiteboard from the tool shed out into the open, meeting every one of their gazes and declares:

“Here’s the plan!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed my Seijoh shenanigans ~
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing you can follow me on Tumblr ([@charlythelee](https://charlythelee.tumblr.com)) and/or share this story ([Link](https://charlythelee.tumblr.com/post/645702612301299712/never-change-a-running-system))!
> 
> I also highly advise taking a look at the whole 'Devoted' zine ([Tumblr](https://charlythelee.tumblr.com/post/644673639027965952/devotedpdfpdf) || [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NextGenCaptains/status/1367191011093606403?s=20)), it is free to download and contains plenty of amazing stories and artworks, so be sure to give the mods and other contributors lots of love <3


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